Before the Sun Goes Down
by Musicman310
Summary: An AU story set in the old west. A stranger shows up in town and threatens a nearby gang, inciting worry among the townsfolk. Especially the resident doctor. Plenty of action, plenty of romance. Rating for language and eventual sexual content.
1. Heat

Heat

The dust raked across his boots, scraping small, nearly-parallel lines across them. His feet unconsciously tapped against the stirrups they rested in, knocking the dust away. The skin around the stomach of his horse was loose. Looser than it had ever been, in fact. Neither the horse, nor her rider had eaten in 2 days. The last of their water went earlier in the morning.

He was warm. He was 37 years old. Far too old, by his count, to be starving in the desert. Sweat dripped down his sideburns, caressing his jawline as they fell. He hadn't shaved in a while. His legs ached. He had been riding for weeks now. He was thoroughly annoyed at his current situation, and he was worried for his horse. But mostly, he was warm.

The sun never seemed to stop. Even when he and his horse decided to stop for the night, he could still feel its pulse. There was a small sliver of skin on the back of his neck that was marked by the sun. Right where the shade of his hat had stopped, and his sarape had yet to begin.

He couldn't find any wildlife to hunt for. Nothing seemed to be alive for miles around him. Not even the desert scrubs had enough water. They burned quickly and brightly, with almost no smoke. He took off his sarape and rolled it into a small bundle. Once it was securely placed under his head, he looked up at the stars. His horse pawed the ground next to herself.

He couldn't say how long it took for him to fall asleep. The night was motionless, and so was he. He appreciated the silence of the desert. Solidarity was his own lullaby, he found.

The next day, he crossed through a deep canyon. He tried to search for the river that had carved it, but it was long gone. The walls of the canyon were stacked high with sandstone. Layers upon layers of it were raised high into the heavens. The sky was dotted with large, flowing clouds. He understood what this meant. Clouds could only come from one source.

The river wasn't too far away. Once he cleared the canyon, he was able to spot a long strip of greenery. He and his horse both drank the water the same way, bent over and sucking straight from the river. He sat up and wiped his mouth. Water still dripped from the right corner of his beard. As he exhaled, he heard a small noise from the other side of the river.

The rabbits smelled delicious as they roasted over the fire. His horse had already gorged herself on the vegetation that grew by the river. The sun was drifting down to the western edge of the horizon. He could see several cliffs in the distance. He seemed to be settling down in a valley. Before he had no more light left, he wanted to get a good view of his surroundings. The trees close by himself seemed tall enough.

His arms grappled the limbs of the trees. Their bark was thick and sturdy from years of growth. The leaves were rich and green and dappled his skin with shadows. His head poked through the crown of the canopy and he surveyed the valley. There seemed to be another river in the valley as well, the knowledge of water was calming to him. His eyes followed the river. A long ways down, perhaps half a day's ride, the river he was resting by and the other river met up. At their juncture, there was a small town. He smiled. He had a destination.

The sun was high in the sky by the time he managed to get to the buildings on the edge of the town. It wasn't a town by many people's standards, but to him, it might have been a city. It had been weeks since he had last seen a person and even then, it had only been a fellow traveler. They had rested at the same campfire, and he was gone in the morning. The traveler had left his guitar. Maybe as a gift, maybe as a mistake.

The guitar, like most of himself, was covered by his sarape. That, he knew had been a gift. Most of his belongings were gifts, in fact. People always felt the need to thank him, and he never felt like he deserved it. But, his father had taught him to accept whatever life throws at you and let it build you. Gifts and hardships were to be accepted equally.

But he always felt uncomfortable accepting gifts. Challenges, he was no stranger to. His life had been nothing but challenges. His body was more scar than man by now. So many wounds cleaned with bourbon and burned shut by a stick from his campfire. Nights spent shivering in the snow, days spent baking in the sun alone.

A small man approached him. The man would've been small even if he wasn't being viewed from the vantage point of a horse. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and black vest. His boots were clean, and his sleeves weren't rolled up. He was balding young and had to wear glasses.

"Welcome to town, stranger." The man said, squinting upwards. "Mind if I ask what you're doing 'round here?"

"Just passing through." Said the man on the horse. "I'm just looking for a place to stay and a meal for me and my horse."

"The inn is just a little down the road, and they should have food there as well." The small man said after exhaling.

"Much obliged."

"Mind if I ask another question?"

The man on the horse nodded.

"You got a name there, stranger?"

"Jesse McCree. And this here is Anna."

"Pleased to meet you."

The rider tipped his cap and made his way down the street to where the man had indicated. The town was noticeably empty. He would've expected it, being so far out, and yet something seemed off. There were too many buildings for there to be this little people. There should be more noise in this center of commerce. And yet all he heard was his horse.

He entered the inn after tying his horse to the post outside. There were exactly five people inside. One gentleman behind the bar, and two groups of two men at different tables. If they were talking before he walked in, he wouldn't know. But he knew they were quiet when he entered. He approached the bar and the man behind it.

"Are you the man I talk to about a meal and a place to sleep?" McCree asked

"Yessir. Might I inquire as to what business you have in this town?" the bartender said, words dripping with venom.

"I'm just passing through. Won't be staying more than a few nights." McCree responded with an even, level voice.

"It'll be two dollars a night and your meal cost depends on what we got cooking. Tonight its stew. 30 cents."

Jesse reached into his back pocket. Every man in the building drew a gun. Jesse slowly pulled out his billfold and placed four dollars and 30 cents on the countertop. The bartender set his revolver down to count out the coins. The other men lowered their weapons much slower.

"People in this town seem to be a little jumpy." McCree remarked "You happen to know why that is?"

The bartender looked up from the coins. "We've had some trouble with a group of thugs harassing us. Not like we have much for them to take. They just come in, guns blazing, hooting and hollering. No one really goes outside much anymore. For fear of getting shot."

"I see. Shouldn't you sheriff, or whatever idea of law you have, be taking care of them?" McCree asked.

"He's too chicken shit to come at us, stranger."

A small group of men had entered the inn. The one in the center had been the one to speak. He wasn't wearing a hat. The man to his right had a beard that reached down to his sternum. The one on the left had eyes that didn't seem to quite focus. The center one stepped forward.

"Why might you be asking about our little group?"

McCree shrugged "Just wondering what a band of thugs wants with a small town like this."

"Now, I wouldn't call us thugs…" The center man said, chuckling "Just a couple of young fellas out having fun before they get as old as you."

The other men laughed loudly behind their supposed leader. The center man smirked, clearly pleased with his joke.

"Why don't you step aside, grandpa. Let us thirsty boys get ourselves a drink."

"By all means." Jesse said, stepping to the side.

The men approached the bar. No one spoke. The bartender gave them all three glasses and filled them with a dark liquid. Jesse ordered a drink for himself. He lifted the glass to the men to his right.

"To all the small cienega we find on our journeys." He said before bringing the glass to his lips.

The center man sneered and waved his empty glass in the air. The other man's eyes still hadn't focused. Jesse wondered what he would bring to a group like this, but then he looked closer at the man's physique. This man appeared to be made of absolutely nothing but muscle. Jesse wondered if he even had bones. The men finished their drinks and got up.

"Now hold on." Jesse said, as the men neared the door. "You boys need to pay for those drinks."

The center man stopped and turned around. His gun was drawn. His finger was already poised on the trigger.

"You get this straight, old man. We don't pay for nothing in this town. Got it? Not whiskey, not women. We get what we want, when we want. For. Free."

There were three loud cracks, and the men were on the floor. The center one was writhing. The other two men didn't move. Jesse finished his drink and walked towards their bodies. He put his gun back in its holster. His boots stopped an inch from the bleeding man's face.

"You're gonna start paying for it. Now answer my question, please. Are you the only ones?"

"Fuck you!"

Jesse rested his right foot on the man's bullet wound. He pressed down. The man screamed louder than he ever had in his life.

"I asked you politely. Are you the only ones?"

"Fuck no. We got 20 more just a few days ride away."

"Okay. Get up. I know where I shot you, and I know you can still ride."

The man staggered to his feet. His gun was still in his hand. Jesse quickly righted that discretion. The man screamed as his wrist twisted backwards. His gun clattered to the ground. He moved as fast as he could to the doorway.

"You're gonna be sorry, you old fuck. We're gonna put you in the ground where you belong."

"Well I won't know until I see."

And then it was only the five men once again. No one spoke. Jesse returned to his spot at the bar and motioned for another drink. The bartender filled his glass once more. The other four men had their eyes on the two bodies on the floor. Enough time passed that Jesse finished his drink.

Then, a woman came into the bar. The majority of her hair was tied up in a bun. The rest was splayed out across her hair. She clearly understood who she was and what was asked of her. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up. Her skirt was a simple plaid pattern and flowed well with her motions. She immediately looked at the ground and the two bodies that rested there.

"No one thought to move these men outside?" She asked, indignantly.

He voice was thick with some form of accent. Not like the others in this town. It made her sound more commandeering. The men sitting at their tables all began to make excuses. They eventually agreed that the man who did the deed should have moved them. The woman looked at where the fingers were pointed and met Jesse's gaze.

He waved.

"My bad, ma'am. I didn't realize it was customary to treat outlaws like people in this town." He said, his eyes flicking down to the corpses.

"Everyone is a person, sir. And besides that, I'm sure their blood has stained this floor by now."

Jesse stood up and walked over to her. As he got closer, he was able to see more of her. Her hands were solid, built from years of work. Her shirt had flecks of bloodstains on the sleeves and lower end. Her skirt had pockets that seemed to be filled with bandages and metal work. Her eyes were shockingly blue. She was not happy.

"I'll move them right now, if you wouldn't mind giving me some space."

She stepped to the side, as he lifted the first man onto his shoulders. He grunted as his legs heated up from the strain. He quickly moved to the door and outside. He threw the man onto the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust as he did so.

He turned to get the next man, but the woman was already carrying him out. She was grimacing under the weight, but took the time to lower the man onto the ground gently. She gently closed his unfocused eyes, and then repeated the process on the other man. Jesse held the door open for her and they reentered the inn.

"Now, would you mind telling me why you killed these men?" The woman asked after they had closed the door.

"They didn't pay for their drinks and threatened me with violence. Not to mention, they were part of that gang that has been terrorizing you all. I was simply doing a service."

The woman was not happy. Her mood noticeably lowered.

"Did it occur to you that the other members of this gang would come to avenge their comerades?"

Her accent was so thick. Jesse enjoyed every word that came out of her mouth. It was rare for him to hear English in such a way. The last time he had heard someone speak the way she did, he was still in New York. Immigrants always spoke in such new, interesting ways.

"He told them to, Angela." A man at the nearest table said.

"He did what?" Angela said, heat creeping into her words.

"He left one alive and told him to bring everyone back."

Angela screamed. It was more out of frustration than any other emotion. Jesse could hear hints of Anger and worry in her shout as well. And a small amount of weariness. Her eyes were blazing as she glared at him.

"Do you have any idea how many people you've put in danger? All because you thought you were helping?"

"Ma'am. I'm simply trying to clean out the problem at hand, and then I will leave. Simple as that."

"No, not simple as that." She said, clipping every word. "You're going to get innocent people killed with what you've done."

"No, I won't."

"By my count, you've gotten two people killed and one man injured. You have been in this town a day."

"I'd say I'm making great progress then."

She slapped him. It was hard. Much harder than he had been slapped in recent memory. He looked at her. Tears were visible in the corner of her eyes. She glared at him, and then left the building. She was right. There were two large spots on the floor where the two bodies had been.

"Well, that was something." The bartender said.

"Yes, it was." Jesse responded.

"Come on." The bartender said, moving around the counter and towards Jesse. "I'll show you to where you'll be staying the night."

"Much obliged." Jesse said, following the man up the stairs.

"Of course. Dinner should be ready in an hour. More people ought to be there, so you can explain to the town what's going on. I'm sure Angela is already making a big fuss about it. Here you are."

The door was well worn and had a black 3 painted on it.

"You got a name there, stranger?" The bartender asked, handing Jesse the key.

"Name's McCree."

"Welcome to Grand Junction Colorado, McCree. Try not to get yourself killed while you're here."

Jesse nodded and entered his room. He gently closed the door behind him.

* * *

Hey y'all. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Timeless is still my first priority, and when I have time to work on this story, I will. If you like it, leave a review, if you don't, leave a review.

Stay solid,

Joe


	2. Gauze

Gauze

There was blood on her hands. Metaphorically and literally. But at this moment in time, she was only concerned with the dripping crimson that was threatening to stain her shoes. The man lying in front of her was unconscious and had been for more than three minutes. She held a small mirror up to his mouth. The slight condensation that formed a small oval proved that he was still alive.

He had been shot. That's what the family and the bullet hole in his abdomen told her. She knew the man, and she knew his family. She knew everyone in town, but 40 people wasn't much to memorize. She was the only doctor around for miles, she knew. Her only companion was her assistant, Jenna, who was currently crying silently.

Jenna had a weak stomach and strong legs. Angela had seen her assistant carry a man 40 yards and not show any signs of struggle. Her assistant was young. 17 as of last May. She was an invaluable asset to Angela, even at her worst. Her mother had asked Angela to teach her and, if possible, pay her. Payment wasn't always and option, but a warm meal was a constant.

Jenna had grown to love Angela's strange recipes. Angela had grown to love cooking for Jenna. It was nice to have someone eat her meals again. When Jenna had first come to work for Angela, she was near useless. But after a year and a half of solid work, she was able to help in even complex surgeries.

She was proving as much as she grabbed the forceps for Angela. Jenna peeled back the man's first layer of skin. The easier it was to get inside of the man, the easier it would be to extract the bullet. It was lodged just below the 11th rib on the man's right side. Angela deftly slid the metal slug from the viscera and placed it in a small tin.

Now all Angela had to do was clean the wound and close it. Easier said than done, but not by much. A small canteen was passed between the two girls and emptied in the open wound. There wasn't much blood washing out. A suture was placed in between Angela's right index finger and thumb.

The curved needle pierced through the dermis with little to no problem. The man would only need three stitches. Jenna did a wonderful job of being efficient with her scalpel. Jenna clearly didn't enjoy cutting open the man, but she performed beautifully. Angel would have to let her know how well she did.

The two women backed away from the man lying naked on the table. His chest rose and fell. It was almost indiscernible, but they were keen for any sign the man was still alive. They exhaled, their arms bent at ninety degree angles. Palms up. They both made for the small sink in the corner of the room. They had done all they could. Now they would need to wait.

The two women sat in the chairs beside the table. Their eyes were fixed on the man to see any change in his condition. Angela had just returned from the lobby of her building, telling the family that the operation was finished. It had been 30 minutes since Angela had finished the last knot holding the man's body together.

"Did you see the new man who came into town?" Jenna said, eyes transfixed on the man on the table.

Angela sighed. She had seen him. And seen what he could and clearly would do to people he didn't agree with. He seemed so pleased with himself. As though he was the conquering hero here to save the town she called home. All she saw was a barbarian with a fire arm.

"I did."

"I heard he killed four members of the Gunnison Gang."

"It was only two."

Jenna exhaled. Was that admiration that Angela detected?

"Jenna." Angela said, voice sharp and clear. "He let one go so that the rest would know of what he did. They will be coming."

"Oh." Jenna said, softly.

"Exactly. My only hope is that they will be willing to talk before anyone else needs to get hurt."

The man on the table was still breathing. Only 20 more minutes, and Angela could alert his family that he was stable. His son had accidentally shot him. Why did everyone in this country feel the need to own and operate a fire arm? An 8-year-old child did not need to handle a rifle. That is how accidents happen. Accidents like this.

"Maybe he'll take care of them for us." Jenna said.

Angela didn't say what she wanted to. She didn't want to bring up what happened to people who tried to go up against the Gunnison Gang. She didn't remind Jenna what happened to her father and the other men who tried to be heroes. She didn't want to speak of the past.

"I just want him to clean up the mess he caused." Angela said, after a while.

Angela rose to her feet. She decided to go tell the family early. The man was fine, she knew. The hour long waiting period was just so she could make absolutely sure. She hated getting people's hopes up just to crush them. She would much rather create a pleasant surprise than a shocking lie.

The man's wife cried with happiness. The young boy sitting beside her had clearly already been crying. Angela could see the redness in his eyes and the whiteness o his knuckles. She gently knelt down next to him. Her clear, blue eyes were perfectly level with his own brown ones.

"Guns are dangerous, young man. I hope you have learned from this." She said, calmly and clearly.

The boy nodded and whispered something.

"What was that?" Angela asked.

"Thank you for saving him. I'm sorry for it." His voice trembled. He was about to cry again.

"It's okay. Just see to it that you're going to do better in the future."

The boy nodded again, even more vigorously. Angela smiled and straightened herself. She gave the mother a curt nod and walked back into the operating room. The man was still breathing, and Jenna was still keeping an eye on him.

"I'm going to stay the night here to keep an eye on him, should he need help." Angela told her young assistant.

"Do you need anything?" Jenna asked

"I should be fine. You did wonderfully today, Jenna. You should be proud of the work you accomplished."

Jenna looked down. A smile crept up her cheeks. It wasn't often that Angela delivered a compliment like that. Not that she was mean. She just never talked much besides a few pointers here and there. Jenna loved working for Angela. Only on the days when they didn't succeed in their jobs did Jenna have trouble sleeping.

"Then, I'll see you tomorrow. Mom managed to get a chicken for dinner tonight, so I'll be eating over there."

"That is very good to hear. Give her my regards."

"Goodnight, Ms. Ziegler."

"Goodnight, Jenna."

The door clicked shut, and Angela was alone once more. Only the sound of breathing could be heard. Both hers and the man. His name was Jason. His family herded sheep. He was one of the first people to come meet her when she moved here. He was also one of the first to offer his condolences when her husband passed away.

And in an instant, Angela's mind was swimming in memories of him. He had visited her home country with a notebook that was always being scribbled in. She remembered the first time she had met him. The hospital had agreed to let him interview some of the residents, and Angela was one of the few who spoke English.

He started by asked her the standard questions. What about the area interested her? What was the most common thing she had to treat? Where was the best place to eat? Would she accompany him there? Would she come back to America with him? Would she marry him? Would she stay with him until he was gone?

Angela was snapped back into reality by the grumbling in her stomach. She realized that she hadn't eaten in a few hours. She looked at the man, currently sleeping. She would be able to go and get a meal and then return before he woke up.

She made her way to the door and grabbed her small coin purse. The outside air was warm, but not uncomfortably so. She appreciated any reprieve from the intense heat this area seemed to constantly experience. The stars were just starting to sprinkle themselves across the night sky. A few lanterns were visible in the windows across the street.

The moon was nearly full, and just as bright as it needed to be. Angela did love the quiet of the street at night. Just the silence of the desert and the coolness of the night. Only a few insects could be heard. The bookcliffs towered to her left. The building she was making her way towards was lit well, and seemed to be full.

Full, it was. The whole town seemed to be inhabiting the lobby of the small inn. Angela was used to the inn being a popular spot, but she doubted she had ever seen it as full as it was then. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a reason for the increase in patrons. She didn't need to look long.

The stranger was sitting alone at a table. The town was crowded around the same table. Their jaws hung open. He was clearly in the middle of telling a story. Perhaps one of his gun slinging adventures. Maybe he found a lost civilization and befriended the natives. Perhaps he rescued a child from a gulch. He could have done any of those things, and it wouldn't have mattered to Angela. All she saw was a man who took pride in killing.

She quickly made her way to the bar to speak to the owner. He was cleaning a glass with a small rag and leaning as far forward as he could. He was clearly enraptured by the man's story. The glass was already clean and probably had been for a while.

"Hello, Louis." Angela said, leaning to her left to try to meet the bartender's eyes.

The man jumped when he realized someone was speaking to him. "Ah. Doctor Ziegler. Didn't expect to see you here tonight. What can I do you for?"

"Just whatever you have for dinner tonight."

"Yes, ma'am. That'll be stew for 30 cents."

"Wunderbar."

Lewis quickly stepped into the back rom. Angela always came to him when she needed a meal for her overnight stays. Her own home was about a twenty minute ride from town, if she rode slowly. She usually did. Even with the unceasing heat, she appreciated the quiet beauty of the desert she called home.

The crowd laughed and applauded. The man had finished his story, so it seemed. This town had no theater, so Angela didn't blame the members of it for listening. Quiet might have been her preferred way of living, but some others were sick of it.

"Well, hello there, ma'am."

And there he was, at the stool beside her. Uninvited seemed to be an increasingly accurate adjective to describe this man. Confident was another. Handsome could be used, but she wouldn't. Not out loud, anyway.

"Hello." Angela responded. She felt she had to. Rudeness was not something she liked to personify.

"I'm sorry about earlier today." The man said, setting his right palm down, close to hers. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You murdered two men and guaranteed more violence towards this town. Why would I not be upset?"

The man was silent for a moment. "You're right. I'm sorry. But, I promise that I will keep everyone safe."

"And how will you do that? Those thugs will come to this town and kill anyone they see."

"No, they won't. They'll be looking for me, and I will be right where they can find me. And then I'll have a nice, civil talk with whoever leads them."

Angela scoffed. "Civil?"

"Yes ma'am. I might not look it, but I can be quite the negotiator."

Angela sighed. "I love this town, and everyone in it. I hate seeing them hurt. It is my job to make sure they are alive and well."

"Are you the Sheriff I keep hearing about, then?" The man said, a grin creeping up on his lips.

Angela stared at the man, colder than she meant to. "I am the doctor."

"I see. Well, now I know where to go when that gang shoots me."

He was persistent, she had to admit. He seemed to always have something to respond with. Whether she was ready for it or not, he would continue the conversation. It was frustrating. Yet, Angela would later admit at being excited by someone who could keep a decent conversation. Most of the talk around town centered on cattle and rain.

"If that happens, I will treat you the same as anyone else."

"So, no matter how many bullets are in me, I'll be just fine. As long as you're stitching me up, that is."

Angela couldn't think pf a response. It was a nice compliment, but one that held a particular sting. She wasn't a miracle worker. If there was nothing she could do, the answer was simple. Her patient would die on her table. She hoped this man wouldn't meet that fate. Before she could begin to formulate a response, Louis returned.

"Here you are, Doctor Ziegler."

"Thank you, Louis." Angela said, relieved. She placed thirty cents on the counter, and grabbed her bowl.

The stranger stood up with her. "Where are you planning on siting?"

Angela moved towards the door. "In my office. Alone."

"Do you mind if I walk you there?"

Angela didn't slow her movements. "I'll be fine, thank you."

"Well, alright then. Have a good night, Doctor."

Angela paused in the doorway. She turned and looked at the man standing a few steps behind her. He was tall and strong and took no for an answer. He smiled at her so warmly. She realized she didn't know his name. She told herself she didn't want to know.

"And you."

And then, she was out the door. Alone on the quiet street.

* * *

Hey, Y'all. Me again. Hopefully you guys are liking the story. If you are, please favorite it, and share it with your friends. If you aren't, leave a review or message me, telling me how it could be better. On that note, if you guys have any suggestions or anything, let me know. And that goes for this story and Timeless.

Hope you're digging it,

Joe


	3. Sweat

Sweat

His pillow was soaked. Not that he had a problem with it. It had been long enough between beds that he was thankful for a pillow at all. Life had a way of doing that to you, he noticed. Soon enough, you realize that even bad things could be seen as good. He tried to see the silver lining in everything.

A wet pillow was at least a pillow. Sweat meant that he had some water in his system. Not many folks he could talk to had experienced it, but there were times where he couldn't sweat because of how dehydrated he was. He was also thankful for people to talk to. Solidarity was a lullaby, but conversation was a symphony.

He lifted himself out of bed and moved towards the bath in the room across from him. It had been a long time since he had seen a bathtub. Longer than it had been between beds. And longer still for him to remember a bath as nice as this one. Solid porcelain and gold trimmed feet. A drain. He hadn't seen a bath with a drain since New York.

As he filled the porcelain basin with the two buckets he had asked for the night before, he wondered what other secrets the town hid. As soon as the buckets were empty, he removed his clothing and stepped inside. He had bathed in the river the day before, but having a roof over his head made the experience feel more refined.

The water beaded down his long, shaggy hair and dripped across his broad shoulders. The water wasn't warm or cold, but somewhere in between. He purposefully left the buckets alone overnight so that way they would settle to room temperature. He liked bathing in water he could scarcely feel. It felt more cleansing in a way he couldn't describe.

His mind began to drift as he bathed himself. He had come across an immigrant in his travels that had told him that bathing was a time for peaceful contemplation. He hadn't agreed with him at the time. But as the years went on, he began to understand exactly what he meant.

The sky outside his window was so clear. He was used to desert skies being as barren as the ground he walked upon. Two sides of the same coin. Both bone dry. He was glad that he was able to escape the heat of the sun for a few moments from time to time. The blue of the sky was a sight that he could never burn from under his eyelids. It was one of the more pleasant ones.

He could still see the fire. The embers had crackled into the night sky. He could see her screaming. He could see the blood drip down into her dress. He could see their smiles. The glint of the knife. He could almost hear their laughter mixed with a gargled calling of his name.

The clanging of the tin bucket being dropped tore him away from the darkness behind his eyelids. It took him a few moments to remember where we was. He picked the bucket back up and returned to his ritual. His gaze returned to the window and the blue outside. The same blue that was inside of her eyes.

She was beautiful, he thought. One of the most beautiful he had seen in a while. One of the most beautiful he had seen ever. He could imagine how she looked when she smiled. He had only seen her scowl or frown, but he was sure her smile was wonderful. He wondered under what circumstances she would smile. Maybe she enjoyed jokes? Or dogs? She looked more like a cat person, but he could never be sure.

He wasn't much for jokes. And the only animal he had was Anna. But he wondered how to make her smile just the same. He was putting his gloves back on before he realized that he was still thinking of her. He had to think about other things. Namely, the gang that was on its way in a few days' time to kill him. He had been in worse situations, but he could never go into anything without some form of plan.

He slid his boots on and made his way out of his room. The inn was much less crowded than it was the previous night. The people he had assumed lived in the town had revealed themselves to him with apprehension, then interest, then friendliness. They loved his stories, and he enjoyed having people to tell them to. Sometimes he felt that, without his stories, he'd cease to exist.

The town outside of the inn was bustling. People were moving and selling and going places with a purpose. His purpose was the town itself. He could take one look at the town and know the best vantage places. But, the best vantage places weren't always as good as the secret vantage places. Not to mention, he loved learning how people in new towns lived their lives.

He walked along the street and looked at everything he could. A man was getting a shave along the porch of the barber's shop. The horse resting outside of the shop was enjoying a drink from the trough that was next to it. A young boy had his eyes unflinching on the horses smooth, chestnut coat. His mother was dragging him along to the general store. Her dress was a light cream color and her hair was the same color as the horses. The man who was at the counter of the general store was the same who had welcomed Jesse into the town. He looked like a man with answers.

Jesse entered the store and approached the counter.

"Oh! Hello! Jesse, wasn't it?" Said the man with the glasses.

"Yes sir. I'm afraid I didn't get your name yesterday when I first arrived." Jesse said, removing his hat.

"Oh, well, I'm George. And I operate this here store. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I'm just looking for a bit of information, is all. Do you happen to know anything about the Gunnison Gang?"

George blanched. He leaned a little was away from the counter and his eyes began to dart around.

"What do you want to know about them, for?" He asked, with a terse tone.

"I just need to know what I'm up against, that's all. I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"Well," George said, tugging his collar "They came around a few months ago and just started cooking up trouble. At first, they just were doing nothing but vandalism. Harassing women and drinking heavy was about the worst of it. Things we could handle. But then, some two months ago, a new one strolled into town. He was tall, gaunt, and wore all black. He didn't sweat a drop, though.

"The few that were just messing around suddenly all got in line. Like a spell or some such. He went right up to the sheriff and said 'This is my town now'. Of course the sheriff stood up to him, but he fell as soon as he opened his mouth. Then, a few other men in town drew on the stranger, but they were down as quick as lightning. That leader of theirs is something fierce.

"He told us all that his folk didn't need to pay for anything and that anyone who stood up to them was as good as dead. And then he rode off, quick as he came. And they've just gotten gutsier and gutsier as time has passed. I swear, one of these days, someone is gonna get killed. Besides the ones that you took down, that is."

Jesse was quiet for a moment. "Do you happen to know just how far out their camp is?"

"Of course." George said "When we got our new Sheriff, some men formed a posse and rode out. 4 days, there and back. But when they got back, there was less than half of the original party. And the sheriff hasn't done anything but mumble since."

"Thank you, kindly, George." Said Jesse, putting his cap back on.

"Is that all, Mr. McCree?" George said, returning to a business man.

"Actually, do you mind if I get some of those cigars there?"

As George reached onto the shelves behind him, Jesse looked to his right. The boy was looking at him now. The same unflinching gaze. Jesse smiled down at the boy.

"And two peppermint sticks please, George."

Jesse exited the store with a stick of peppermint in between his lips and a high-pitched "Thank you, mister!" called out behind him. He continued his tour of the town. Most towns out in the west looked the same. Maybe it was a culture thing, maybe it was just the easiest option. But, every town had the same set of buildings, and the same general layout.

The general store was across from the inn, which was by the barbershop. The bank was by the sheriff's office. The jail was either in there, or behind. The post office was across from the Sheriff's. The buildings in between were either homes or specialty stores. But this town had an addition that he found in only a few towns this far out west. A doctor's office.

A young woman sat behind the counter top. Her hair was brunette and pulled up into a tight bun. Her face was freckled around the tops of her cheeks and her eyes were like amber. She was deeply immersed in her book and did not look up when he walked in. It was strange for him, to not immediately have all eyes on him. Especially as a stranger in a town under siege.

He cleared his throat. The girl jumped and accidentally dropped her book.

"Oh my!" She said, leaving her chair and crawling towards her book. "I apologize, sir. I was a little lost in my story and didn't hear you come in."

"It's alright. No apologies necessary."

She picked herself back up, set the book on the counter and stood to face him. She looked him in the eyes. She didn't do it confidently, but she looked in his eyes nonetheless. It was an admirable trait.

"Can I help you with anything, stranger?"

"Call me Jesse. And, I was wondering if Angela was in."

"She is, sir. She's right in the back. Might I inquire as to why you want to see her?"

"I'd like to apologize to her."

He sat down on a wooden chair as the girl went to fetch the doctor. He didn't favor hospitals. Too many dead people. Too many goodbyes. This one wasn't the worst he'd ever been in. It was certainly one of the cleaner ones. A small plant stood in the corner nearest him. A bookshelf was placed on the other side, near an open window. The breeze from outside was flowing quiet and sweet. He wished he was out there.

He heard the clack of shoes against wood and his head turned away from the window. There she was. The Doctor. Arms crossed, hair up, one lock loose. He skirt was adorned with a few metal tools and a clean, white towel. Her sleeves were rolled up. She was scowling. Her eyes rang with annoyance.

"May I help you?"

"Yes, you can." Jesse stood, hat in hand. "I came to apologize and I hoped that you'd be able to accept it."

"You apologized last night, sir."

"It's a two-part apology."

Her eyebrows raised, slightly. But Jesse noticed all the same.

"And what would part two be?"

"I was hoping you'd let me buy you a meal and ask you a few questions about your town."

She was quiet. He was quiet. Nothing moved. The breeze had stopped. The fingers on her right hand tapped along her bicep. His fingers gently squeezed the brim of his hat. The young girl came back in.

"Miss Ziegler, Mr. Robinson is awake and in stable condition."

"Thank you Jenna."

Jenna was quiet for a moment. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Jenna. I'm just going to step out for a while with this man. Will you be alright watching Mr. Robinson while I'm out?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Wunderbar. I will go wash my hands and put my tools away. I'll be right back."

And she was gone and Jesse was left with the young girl. She was looking at him with amazement and confusion.

"Are you the stranger from yesterday?"

"Yes, I am."

"Well, good luck with Miss Ziegler. A little piece of advice? Agree with her."

And just like that, Jesse was out walking with the doctor down the main street of town.

* * *

What's good, gang? It's been a while since I've updated either of my stories. Don't worry, neither are dead. I'm just busy with college and, in the case of Timeless, planning out where I want to go with it. I'l probably still be as sporadic with updating, but I'll definitely work on getting chapters out sooner.

Anyway. If you liked the chapter, please leave a review. If you didn't leave a review. And, if you have any good ideas that you want to contribute, feel free to message me. I always respond.

Thank you for reading,

Joe


End file.
